


Something Old and Something New

by Ange_de_la_Mort



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/M, Possible Character Death, current Kristoff/Anna, fire!hans, past and possibly future Hans/Anna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2112522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ange_de_la_Mort/pseuds/Ange_de_la_Mort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Anna's wedding day, someone from her past returns, a friend turned enemy. What he has to say, though, puts an entirely new spin on their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Old and Something New

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by Prince-Hans-Pants on Tumblr.

It had been exactly one year since that fateful day of Elsa’s coronation. And exactly three hundred and sixty-three days since Kristoff and Anna had fallen in love.  
  
One would assume that one year was more than enough time to get to know each other, right? To find out the quirks and flaws of a person, a friend, a lover. Enough time to laugh and cry and talk. Enough time to understand someone. It should be. But it wasn’t, or rather, Anna was not so sure anymore about all of that. After all, she’d known Elsa all her life without _knowing_ the most important thing about her (and no, she wasn’t even thinking about Elsa’s powers, but about her fear and loneliness, about Elsa’s belief to endure all situations, to master all obstacles all by herself); so how should she know just after one short year whether Kristoff was the one and only, the right one, the one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with?  
  
Of course she loved him. But she had loved before, and … well, it wasn’t exactly a secret just how _that_ had turned out.   
  
Sometimes, she had to admit, she still thought of him, thought of green eyes and freckles, of his smile, his hands that had clasped around her own so gently, so protectively.   
  
And then she thought of every time he’d lied to her.  
  
In a way she had to be grateful (in a way that ignored her pain and didn’t make her feel ashamed for being oh so naïve, in every way that didn’t miss him and made her hate herself because of it). He had helped her grow up. She’d become more reasonable. Smarter. More thoughtful. Less steered by her instincts.  
  
Still …   
  
Still she’d never be as reasonable as Elsa. Elsa was a born leader, strong and proud and generous and as capable as Anna knew she’d never be. Elsa had been the one to arrange her marriage (not without a reason, of course. Shortly after breaking all ties with Weselton, they had declared war on Arendelle. Anna had been appalled, shocked and - admittedly - frightened. The sheer possibility of anything happening to her country, her people, her friends and her sister horrified her. She’d never witnessed a war, and she never thought she might _have_ to. She didn’t want to. For her, wars were nothing but stories from long, long ago; devastating things that had happened to other people and other countries, things that happened so they’d never have to happen again.   
And Elsa … Elsa had stayed calm and collected. She’d breathed in deeply, once, and had given all those orders that would hopefully keep Arendelle save. At the same time, she had said that the people of Arendelle, and their lives and safety and happiness would have the highest priority.  
… and what made people happier than a wedding?)  
  
And now, here she was … sitting all alone in her chambers, on her wedding day, clutching the silken fabric with shaking fingers; a dream of white and gold and green that seemed to be too much, too pompous, too fragile for the person she had become.  
  
 _Something borrowed, something blue …_  
  
She wore a tiara that Elsa had given her, and an almost plain ring on her right hand, one with a blue gemstone. A sapphire, she guessed. Her mother’s necklace, the one that she had worn at her own wedding all these years ago, felt like it weighed a million pounds, heavy with the burden of being a dutiful wife and princess, of making everyone happy, even at the expense of herself, of doing the _right_ thing even if she didn’t know what it was. And of course the dress itself. As was the custom.  
  
Not that knowing she followed the customs put her mind to ease.  
  
The door to her chambers was opened, slowly, carefully, and the frame of a man cast a shadow on her.  
  
Anna smiled a tired smile, as she looked up and said: “Kristoff, you know it’s bad luck to see the bride on - ” Her eyes widened, words failed her, as she recognized him, recognized his slender frame that was leaning in the doorway. His name tumbled over her lips before she could stop herself.  
  
Hans.  
  
He was here.  
  
In her country. Her castle. Her _chambers_.   
  
Her mind was spinning, screaming _how_ and _why_ and she had to close her eyes for a moment to drown out the sudden ringing in her ears, a high-pitched sound that threatened to deafen her senses.  
  
"Anna," he said, and it felt like a tidal wave crashing down on her, all of the emotions coming back with full force. Love and hatred and _fear_ mingling together to create something that made her breath hitch and her throat grow tight.  
  
"What are you doing here?" she managed to ask with a surprisingly steady voice as she got up, digging the nails of one hand into the fabric of her dress. What was he doing here? Would he attack her? Try to end what he’d begun? Would she have to flee, fight, force her way out of this?  
  
"I heard you’d marry today."  
  
"Wait, what?" That was it? That was why he’d come? No … no, that couldn’t be right. Hans was not a man driven by emotions, that much Anna had learnt about him. That was the only thing she could be sure about. Her gaze travelled over his face, her breath hitching as he came closer. Hans looked … sick; his eyes dull and clouded, face even paler than when she’d met him for the first time; clothes ripped and torn. Why hadn’t she noticed that before? … no, that was a stupid question; she hadn’t noticed it, because she’d felt her life in danger. But now that she saw him up close, now that he’d stepped into her sunlit chambers, now she knew that Hans was not going to hurt her, was not _able_ to hurt her.   
  
However, just as she felt safe to take a step towards him, he took off his right glove, extended his hand towards her. She recoiled as she saw - no, what, how - small flames danced around his fingers, lighting up his hands and the stains of dried blood - his own? Elsa’s? Kristoff’s?   
  
Anna retreated, one step, two, until she was backed up against her desk, hands brushing over solid wood, fingers curling around a silver letter opener. Not enough to protect herself, she guessed, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. She owed this to everyone. “What have you done?” she hissed between clenched teeth.  
  
"What haven’t I done?"  
  
"Is this something else I never knew about you?" Her voice was shaking, as were her hands. "Another little secret I’d have found out after our marriage?"  
  
His lips curled into a smile, a tired one, a sad one, but she new better than to trust him. Then, however, he said: “I was completely ordinary. In the best kind of way.”  
  
"… a curse? One that can only be broken by a True Love’s kiss?" she muttered, sarcasm coating her words.  
  
He regarded her coldly. “And if so, what would you do? Would you be the one to save my life?” At her silence, he scoffed and laughed a bitter laugh, humourless and soulless. “Then what a lucky man am I that this curse can not be broken. Not by you. Not by anybody else.”  
  
"What did you do to my sister? Whose blood is this?"  
  
"You are the only one who knows that I am here," he answered, dodging her other question.  
  
"Then why _are_ you here?”  
  
He stayed silent for a long, long moment that felt like an eternity. And then, he said, solemnly, earnestly: “Because I am a dieing man.”  
  
And she believed him, believed in the way his shoulders sagged and his hands were shaking, in the way these dull eyes looked at her.  
  
"This is the punishment I received for hurting you. So, Anna, are you glad now? To know that the pain you felt when the frost was eating you alive has been transferred to me?"  
  
"Hans … " She came closer, hesitantly, her hand reaching out to touch his arm.  
  
He would have none of it and drew his own hand back. “Don’t. You will only burn yourself. Though that wouldn’t be the first time, now, would it, that my touch would scorch you forever?”  
  
"Hans," she said again, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I never meant something like this to happen."  
  
"Then _what_ did you mean to happen?” he snarled, anger lighting up his eyes like a flame that could not be contained. “What did you think would be the outcome when you let her send me back? An execution? A beheading? Something nice and clean and _quick_?” He bared his teeth in a grin. “That shows how little you know of the world. Anna, naïve, little Anna. The Southern Isles don’t treat their traitors kindly.”  
  
"And now you’re here to avenge yourself?" A terrifying thought. Still, somehow, she was not scared at all. It might be the way he looked at her, the way his fingers were shaking and twitching, as if he longed to touch her. It might be the fact that he hadn’t killed her already. She put a hand on his own, flinching when she felt how hot his body was. As if he had a fever. As if the fire inside him was eating him alive, devouring body and mind and soul. But she didn’t move away, for she saw how he looked at her fingers and her face, astonishment, confusion on his features. She saw the fear in his eyes. He reminded her of Elsa.  
  
"I’d thought about it," he admitted. "But I can’t bring myself to do it. It wouldn’t help."  
  
"Then what would help?"  
  
"… I don’t know. I … no. That’s not true. I do know." He gave a sigh and brushed her cheek with his fingers (and wasn’t it just sad that this was the first time that he touched her without his gloves on?) "I know about Weselton. About the war. I want to help."  
  
"I don’t trust you."  
  
"Then let me earn your trust."  
  
"Why?"  
  
He smiled again, sadly. “Because you cannot help but believe in the good that might still be inside me.”  
  
"I am not that naïve anymore."  
  
"But I am right."  
  
"I did love you. Once," was all that she managed to say after a few seconds of silence.  
  
"And I could have loved you. Someday."  
  
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “And until then?”  
  
"You would never have noticed the difference."  
  
Her heart grew tight and her eyes narrowed. “Well, yes, you always were a good actor.” She stepped back, breaking the contact between her fingers and his own, and he recoiled as if she’d slapped him. “Why are you here, Hans of the Southern Isles?”  
  
"Because," he said, thinking about his words carefully, "I want my dieing breath to matter."  
  
"By finally becoming the hero that saves Arendelle from harm?"  
  
"By protecting the only person that ever mattered to me."  
  
She fell silent. Her anger vanished like smoke in the air, until there only was sadness left inside. Sadness and pity, because right now, she was the only one to understand him, the only one who’d ever seen the real Hans; the frightened, angry boy who was so eager to please and put his life in danger for the small chance of kindness and love. And as she accepted his proposal, she swore to herself to find a way to lift the curse and bring him happiness. Maybe she would be able to love this boy, once more, for somebody had to. Everybody deserved to be loved, after all.  
  
And as he knelt down to swear his obedience, he cried.   
  
And his tears were the ashes of the burnt remnants of the life that he would leave behind.


End file.
